


The Only Common Denominator

by ImprobableDreams900



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Carlos is Insecure, Cecil is Mostly Human, Low Self-Esteem, M/M, emotional angst, mentions of medical trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 16:57:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4312980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImprobableDreams900/pseuds/ImprobableDreams900
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos gets an unexpected break-up text from Cecil, and reflects that it was probably only a matter of time.</p><p>Meanwhile, Cecil gets a strange package in the mail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Common Denominator

**Author's Note:**

> So this idea just popped into my head two days ago, and I wrote it yesterday and edited and posted it today. I think that's a new record for me!

_I think we should stop seeing each other._

Carlos stared at his phone. The text was from Cecil.

 _What?_ He typed in as a reply.  _Are you serious?_  He hit send. 

He stared at his phone for a moment more and then added a second text:  _Are you okay?_

A few seconds later Cecil’s reply popped onto his screen:  _Yes. Please don’t talk to me anymore._

Carlos continued staring at the phone, unable to process what was happening. Just to convince himself that he hadn’t imagined their entire relationship, he scrolled back up through his text message history. The last message Cecil had sent him had been last night, in reply to Carlos’ text that he was leaving the lab and would swing by Cecil’s for the evening.

_K. See you soon! xo_

Carlos hastily reviewed the last couple of days in his head, looking for any hints as to what had gone wrong. He and Cecil had been going steady for several months now, and he didn’t remember Cecil giving any indications that he wanted to break it off. Last night had gone very well, in his opinion, and they’d parted with a long kiss. Then this morning he’d woken up as usual and gone to work at the lab. 

Cecil had been on the radio earlier, of course, but Carlos couldn’t think of anything that had happened that could have caused this. Cecil had updated his listeners on Khoshekh and his kittens, and there had been some notices from the City Council about new laws concerning watermelon and jackhammers, and that March would probably be cancelled next year— but nothing out of the ordinary.

The corner of Carlos’ mouth twitched upwards at the irony, but quickly smoothed back into a worried frown.

Maybe it really wasn’t Cecil texting him, Carlos thought hopefully. But then that meant Cecil might be in trouble.

So Carlos hastily shoved his phone into his pocket, shuffled all his lab papers into a crooked stack, and headed for the door, not even bothering to put his samples away.

He drove straight to Cecil’s apartment building and dashed up the stairs to the second floor. 

He raised a hand to knock urgently on Cecil’s door, but stopped himself short as he picked up sounds of quiet sobbing.

He tilted his head closer to the door, carefully keeping away from the rust-colored sigils burned into the wood, and felt his heart constrict as he confirmed it was Cecil.

He knocked softly, and the sobs abruptly broke off with a gasp.

“Cecil?” he called quietly. “Cecil, I know you’re in there. Look, are you okay?” He paused to give Cecil a chance to respond, but there was only silence.

“Cecil, honey, what’s going on? What…” Carlos’ throat closed and he swallowed thickly. “What did I do? I’m sorry. Please…just, at least, tell me if you’re okay. You’re not, like, possessed by the glow cloud or something, are you? No one’s forcing you to say this?”

He paused again, and heard muffled sniffling. 

“Please, Cecil. Talk to me. Let me help.” He paused, glancing down at his shoes. “I love you.”

“Go away!” Cecil’s voice was surprisingly loud and forceful, and Carlos glanced up sharply, but the door remained firmly closed.

Carlos shifted his weight awkwardly and looked back down at his shoes. “Cecil, um, are you…you’re sure you’re okay? Can I…can I at least see you?”

There was a long silence, and then the sudden sound of movement. The door abruptly rattled and opened two inches, stopping there as it caught on the six chain locks strung across the gap. A moment later Cecil’s face appeared around the edge of the door.

The radio host looked awful; his eyes were raw and red, as was his nose, and all three eyes were staring at him distrustfully.

Carlos’ eyes tracked up to Cecil’s third one. It was red-rimmed like the others, but it drew his attention because it was open. It usually only opened when Cecil was feeling an emotion very strongly— and right now it was staring at him with a mixture of fear and hatred.

“Happy? Now go away.” Cecil’s words were clipped and cold, if a little hoarse from crying. 

Carlos opened his mouth to make his case, but nothing came out. 

Suddenly unable to look Cecil in the eye, Carlos dropped his gaze down to the bottommost of the six chain locks, which was made of woven grass. Carlos swallowed painfully as he recognized it. He had helped Cecil weave and install it when it became city law that all residences must have one. And now it was standing between him and Cecil.

He felt a burning in his eyes and willfully ignored it. “Are you…sure?” he finally managed. “This is what you…what you want?” He heard his voice break on the last word.

“Yes.” Cecil’s voice was raspy but forceful, and he abruptly pulled back and slammed the door closed in Carlos’ face.

Carlos looked up and stared at the door for a long time, and then back down at his feet. His eyes were burning more than ever now, and he busied himself tugging uncomfortably at his lab coat sleeve. “Um, okay,” he said at last. “If that’s…I’ll be going. Just…” he trailed off. “You know where to find me,” he settled on, and turned to go. 

He made it two steps down the hall before he stopped. He turned back, and then stopped himself again. If Cecil needed space, he had to respect that.

So he turned back around and walked over to the stairs and down and out to his car.

 

~~~***~~~

 

Carlos figured glumly that he should have seen this coming. 

He’d had a number of partners over the years— not a lot, and none of them super recently— but, in the end, they’d all left. Taylor had insisted they just weren’t a good match, Mark had left because Carlos was too “boring,” Scott had dumped him on the eve of college graduation for reasons he still didn’t fully understand, and James had left in tears, blaming Carlos for destroying their relationship.

And now Cecil had left him too.

Carlos sat on his couch, staring blankly at the piles of clutter on his coffee table. Cluttered and messy and full of unwanted things—just like him.

He just had to look at this scientifically— but that had always been the problem, hadn’t it? He was a workaholic. He spent too much time at the lab. He never talked about anything interesting. He worked late. He never gave his partners enough attention and time. Common complaints.

If there was something in the equation that always messed up the solution, you removed that variable. That was the conclusion Carlos had reached in the days after James’ departure. The only common denominator in Carlos’ failed relationships was himself. If hehad cared more, or done less science, or talked less…

So he had given up after James. There was no point in wasting other people’s time when he knew there was no hope it’d work out in the long run anyway. It was a waste of resources for everybody. It just got people hurt.

So then when he’d come to Night Vale, he’d kept his head down, and tried to keep to himself. He wasn’t good at relationships, but he was good at science. So he’d focused on that.

But then there’d been Cecil.

Cecil, who was beautiful and amazing and smart and endlessly fascinating, with his third eye and sentient tattoos, with his gorgeous voice and sincere nature. And, the most miraculous thing of all: he’d claimed, on live radio, to be in love with Carlos.

And it had all seemed too good to be true, so he hypothesized that it wasn’t. Cecil was far too perfect to be in love with him. It was just fate’s cruel way of showing him what he could have had, if he’d been a little better person. If he had loved science a little less.

So he’d distanced himself from Cecil, hoping that the radio host would get the hint and give up hope. Everyone Carlos had ever dated ended up leaving in worse condition than they’d arrived, and he didn’t want to do that to Cecil.

He was poison in relationships. That was just the way it was, and Carlos had done his best to try to limit the casualties.

But then, after the bowling alley, he’d given in. He’d known he was still poison and would end up hurting Cecil in the end, but in his moment of weakness he’d just wanted all the happiness he could get out of it before everything went south.

And it had been wonderful. They’d been dating for a few months now, and Carlos had been seriously considering looking for a place they could move into together. It was the happiest he’d been in years. Maybe decades. Maybe ever. Because, for once, Cecil loved him  _for_ his love of science, not in _spite of_  it, and the distinction made all the difference.

Cecil had loved him for who he was.

Or so he thought.

Now he wasn’t sure. He’d done something wrong and had somehow destroyed this relationship like he had all the others. He’d had his happiness, and now he had hurt Cecil, as he knew he would all along.

It was how they all ended. It was always just a matter of time.

Carlos stared at the coffee table a bit more, and then stood up stiffly and made his way to the bedroom, where he collapsed on top of the covers. 

He tried to focus on regulating his breathing, but his breath kept hitching. Finally he rolled onto his side and curled up, and let the tears come.

 

~~~***~~~

 

Three hours later, Carlos was still lying there, sniffling and trying to fall asleep.

But he just kept picturing Cecil, sitting all alone in his own apartment, sobbing quietly while Carlos hovered uselessly just outside the door. 

He was used to his meltdowns after breakups, but this one was different. He was used to crying silently and uncontrollably because he was poison and alone and unloveable, but that wasn’t what he was doing now.

Whenever he got close to sinking into a well of self-pity, his mind just kept turning to Cecil. And it was the thought of Cecil, sitting and crying all alone in his apartment, that made him cry. It wasn’t the fact that he had messed up yet another relationship; it was the fact that he had messed up  _this_ relationship. Because he knew there would never be another Cecil, and that he would never be this happy again, and that, for him, this was the end of the line. 

And it scared the crap out of him.

Because if this aching in his chest was still for Cecil, then he was the one, and if he was the one, then Carlos had destroyed his only chance for true love. And it sounded sappy and pathetic when he thought of it like that, but he knew deep down it was true, and that he was making the worst mistake of his life letting Cecil get away.

So when, hours later, the ache was still in his chest and Cecil’s gorgeous voice still on his mind, he forced himself up out of his bed and towards the door.

He hadn’t bothered changing out of his work clothes, so he kept them on and simply slipped on his shoes, not even bothering to remove his severely rumpled lab coat.

He sniffled continuously as he made his way out to his car, but the fresh air seemed to at last be clearing up his tears, which was a relief.

He drove straight to Cecil’s apartment, parking haphazardly in the front lot before dashing into the building and up the stairs for the second time that day.

He rapped hurriedly on the door the moment he got there, not wanting to wait and give his courage a chance to falter.

“Cecil?” he called. “Please, Cecil, talk to me.”

There was no reply.

“God, please, Cecil. I can’t— I can’t sleep, I’ve been up all night, just thinking—” Carlos cut himself off and switched tacks, his words tripping over each other in their haste to be said. “Cecil,  _God_ , Cecil, I love you. Just so much. And I’m so sorry for whatever I did. If it’s—if I work too much, if I’m not paying you enough attention, if I’m too…” A terrible thought occurred to Carlos, and he had to swallow before he could voice it. “ _Clingy_ , or something, if I need to back off, I’ll do it, Cecil, I swear, just please…please, could you just tell me what I did wrong? I’ll fix it, please, I don’t know…I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He forced himself to a stop, thinking that if he didn’t now, he might not be able to. He bit his lip and stared down at his shoes.

“Please, Cecil,” he said quietly, fighting back tears. “I love you.”

He stood there for a long moment, but there was no reply. He glanced back up at the door, and realized he wasn’t even sure if Cecil was listening. 

“Cecil? You there?” he called.

There was no reply, and Carlos frowned and dropped his hand automatically to the doorknob. Much to his surprise, it turned easily under his hand, and the door swung open without resistance.

The apartment was empty. 

Carlos took a few hesitant steps forward, glancing around in shock. All of Cecil’s possessions were gone. The bookshelf was devoid of everything but a few dusty, outdated volumes, and all the knickknacks from the top of the TV were gone, though the TV was still there, probably because it was too heavy to move. The piles of papers and clothes were gone, and as Carlos staggered forward, he saw that some of the smaller furniture was missing as well.

Sitting on the kitchen table was a single box and a small pile of items. As Carlos hesitantly approached the table, he saw what was sitting on the very top of the pile: a gold-banded wristwatch. His watch. The watch he had given Cecil for their one month anniversary.

Carlos reached out shakily for it, his fingers trembling as they passed over the smooth face. He took the watch and pocketed it with a swallow and glanced through the rest of the pile. As he went through it, his heart sank even further as he pieced together what all of the items had in common: they had something to do with him. Some were small gifts Carlos had given him, others were trinkets of Cecil’s that Carlos had mentioned liking at some point.  _Cat Ballou_ , the western featuring Lee Marvin that they’d watched at least three times, was there, as well as the woven grass chain lock, which looked like it had been torn off the door.

Carlos swallowed down his tears and turned to the box, which was overflowing with papers and discs. 

He took the paper off the top, and froze. It was a document from a lab— someplace called “Erlenmeyer Science Labs, Inc.”—and it had his name on it. It was a record of an experiment, complete with data tables and charts…Carlos rapidly skimmed the page, looking for the hypothesis. He found it, and his entire body turned to liquid ice.

_Hypothesis: Creatures with more than two eyes are incapable of emotions._

_Testing Method(s): Long-term experimentation with numerous specimens, testing whether certain emotions can be elicited from specimens for brief and prolonged periods of time._

Carlos grabbed another sheet, and another, reading through the hypotheses as his breathing tightened.

_Hypothesis: Creatures with more than two eyes have higher pain tolerances._

_Testing Method(s): Experimentation with specimens, exposing them to extreme hot and cold, electric shock, starvation, dehydration, solitary confinement, prolonged torture, amputation…_

_Hypothesis: Truly sentient ink creatures are an impossibility._

_Testing Method(s): Isolate ink creatures and subject specimens to rigorous scientific experimentation until ink creatures cease their so-called sentient activities._

_Hypothesis: Extra appendages (third eyes, tentacles, extra heads, etc.) are superfluous and immoral._

_Testing Method(s): Amputation and removal of extra appendages on suitable specimens, followed by solitary confinement while experimentation and observation are carried out._

_Hypothesis: Suspended lights not attributed to the heavens are clusters of valuable gases and minerals._

_Testing Method(s): Extraction of “lights” from above buildings and other locations followed by experimentation to determine their chemical makeup. Valuable materials can then be sold for a profit._

_Hypothesis: Creatures with more than two eyes have inherently lower IQs—_

Carlos quit reading, sick to his stomach. He dug through the rest of the box, but it was all like that— pages and charts and,  _God, photographs_. The images were close-ups of eyes and appendages in jars, and of living patients being dissected…

Carlos raised a hand to his mouth to smother the horrified noise escaping from his throat. Yet he couldn’t look away.

There were DVDs marked with such labels as “Removal and dissection of third eye from specimen 29d” and “Specimen 13a Test 24: Electrocution.”

Everything was there— research proposals and approvals, data tables, conclusions and summaries, short papers details his results, and on every one his name: Carlos, Carlos, Carlos,  _Carlos_ …

And worst of all were the photographs. Carlos’ eyes fell on the top one in a stack and he had to sit down.

It was a picture of him. He was in an unfamiliar lab, wearing a lab coat as usual, standing behind a lab table, holding a scalpel in one hand and some sort of organ in the other. Laid out on the table in front of him was a young man with dark hair that had been buzzed short. His chest was laid open, but he was still strapped down with thick leather restraints and his eyes were open.

The next one was him smiling and standing with an award clearly marked with the word “science” in all caps along the base.

And the next was him pointing out something on a large glass jar with a tentacle suspended inside, and the one after was him pressing electrodes into the temples of a young woman, then him slicing into an eye with a scalpel…

The stack went on and on, and Carlos was soon trying very hard not to gag. He’d never been good with biology, and dissection in particular he had never had the stomach for…and yet here it was, very clearly  _him_ …

“Cecil,” Carlos whispered, finally allowing himself to reach the conclusion so obvious since the first sheet.

He forced himself to his feet and over to the box, shoving enough of the papers out of the way so he could lift up the flaps and see the top of the box.

There were bits of tape along the edges, and as he glanced over it, he realized that it had been mailed to Cecil. There was Cecil’s name and address, and in the place of the sender’s address was simply a purplish-orange circular smear.

Who would send Cecil something like this? And how? Some of it wasn’t even very good; he glanced back through the pages, and picked out several conclusions and assumptions that weren’t very scientific. In fact, a lot of them were specific to Night Vale weirdness. But they had _him_. Somehow, they had replicated his image, over and over and over again…

And suddenly it all made sense.

But the ‘how’ and ‘who’ didn’t matter right now. What mattered was that Cecil was gone, and he was terrified, and Carlos had to get him back. Some part of him was deeply relieved that this was all just a misunderstanding, but a misunderstanding of this magnitude was still enough to finish them.

So he threw the papers back on the table, turned, and ran for the door. He sprinted down the stairs and was halfway to his car when he realized he had no idea where Cecil was.

He spun and hurried back towards the apartment building.

“Secret police!” he called hoarsely. “Secret police! Please—!”

A head popped up from some nearby bushes and motioned for him to keep it down. “Shh! What do you want?”

Carlos jogged over to the bush. “Cecil—where’d he go? When’d he leave?”

The secret policeman narrowed her eyes at him through her balaclava. “And why should I tell you anything?”

“Because I’m his boyfriend, and because I know what went wrong, and I need to tell him, please, or I’ll never sleep another night in my life.”

The secret policeman seemed unconvinced. “He told me not to tell you where he went,” she said.

Carlos’ heart sank. “But—” he protested weakly. “There was a mistake, a—a misunderstanding. He heard some things about me, but they aren’t true, I swear, not a word of them, and I need to tell him. He needs to know the truth.”

The secret policeman frowned at him.

“Come on,” Carlos pressed. “You know me. You know Cecil. I would never hurt him. Please. You can even come with if you like, just, please, I need to get to him while I still can.” Carlos blinked back the tears in his eyes.

The secret policeman sighed. “Fine. But if I hear anything about this, I’m reporting you to City Hall for harassment.”

“Agreed,” Carlos said quickly.

“He’s headed out of town,” she told him, gesturing down the road to the left. “Said he wouldn’t be coming back. Left about, oh, twenty or thirty minutes ago?”

“Thank you!” Carlos shouted, even as he spun and ran towards his car. He jumped into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut as he jammed the keys into the ignition and reached for the gear shift.

He sped through the moonlit streets as fast as possible, ignoring all the stop signs even though he didn’t have stop sign immunity, heading for the highway out of Night Vale.

Cecil must have a good lead on him, but it was possible Carlos could still catch him before he got too far out into the world beyond Night Vale.

He hit the main highway out and floored it. Dark buildings framed in moonlight flashed by, and he almost missed the car pulled off on the edge of the road, except that its four-ways were flashing in rainbow colors.

Carlos moved to veer into the opposite lane a little as he passed the car, but then had a sudden flash of instinct and slammed on the brakes instead.

He swerved onto the shoulder behind the car, driving up close enough until his headlights illuminated the bumper—and the Night Vale license plate with the familiar combination of letters and archaic glyphs.

And there, crouching near the rear right tire with a tire and a jack stand, was Cecil. Carlos’ headlights outlined him brilliantly as he turned and looked up, raising a hand to block out the glare.

Carlos put the car in park and turned it off, opening the door and standing up.

“Cecil!” he called as he moved to shut the car door behind him.

To his horror, Cecil scrambled to his feet and ran around the front of the car, making for the driver’s door.

Carlos hurried after him, shouting, “Wait, Cecil, hold on a sec!”

Cecil made it to the door first and jumped in, slamming the door a moment before Carlos could grab it.

He heard the car lock with a sharp click.

“Cecil, Cecil, please, hold on,” Carlos begged, putting a hand on the driver’s window.  

Luckily, Cecil must not have finished changing his tire, because he didn’t look like he was about to put the car in drive. Instead, he just sat there in the shadowy interior of the car, cowering against the middle armrest.

“Open the window?” Carlos asked, miming the action. He took a step back to show his good intentions, and held his hands up so Cecil could see he wasn’t holding anything.

For a long moment Cecil didn’t do anything, but then the window slowly rolled down, stopping halfway. Cecil glared up at him mistrustfully.

“Cecil, those papers aren’t mine,” Carlos said quickly and without preamble. “The videos, the photos, everything; I never did any of that, I swear. I’d never do anything like that to anyone. I don’t—I mean, I couldn’t even sit through Biology 101 without getting queasy! And those things— they were horrible, Cecil, they really were, but they weren’t  _me_. I’ve never heard of that company, and I’ve never worked for them—”

“I’ve heard of it before,” Cecil cut him off. “Erlenmeyer. You’ve talked about them, sometime, I remember.”

Carlos huffed a short, broken laugh. “Erlenmeyer  _flasks_ , Cecil, it’s a type of flask in chemistry. I must have dozens in my lab, but there’s no company about them. They’re named after the scientist who invented them.”

Cecil frowned and sank back into the shadows of the car interior.

“Cecil,” Carlos pressed, “you’ve got to believe me, please.”

“But it  _was_ you,” Cecil interrupted, though his voice was maybe a little uncertain. “The photos, the videos—it was you, it was the way you walk and your voice and your smile—” Cecil broke off abruptly and looked away.

“No, I think I figured that out!” Carlos said hastily. “I was looking through everything, and some of those papers were seriously lacking in scientific fact. There’s lots of false assumptions and just really poorly designed claims. But I mean, first of all, no one would ever approve any of that crap, just on ethical grounds— experimentation even on animals is severely restricted, and human experimentation is strictly outlawed. But some of the stuff was weird— you know how I’ve said that life outside of Night Vale is different? These papers weren’t like that. They were like Night Vale, but the package had an incoming-Night-Vale stamp near the postage, so it came from outside the town. So where’s the only place like Night Vale outside of Night Vale?” Carlos paused to catch his breath, but Cecil didn’t interrupt.

“Desert Bluffs,” Carlos said, and he saw Cecil’s head turn back around. “You remember Kevin? He was just like you. And if there’s another person who looks like you in Desert Bluffs, then, well, it only makes sense that there’s another person who looks like me there too, doesn’t it? And whoever my double is—they did this. They put it all together—it must have taken months—and then they sent it to you. They’re trying to tear us apart for some reason. Or maybe he’s got a vendetta against me, or you, but I swear to you, Cecil, that I never did any of the things those papers said I did. I couldn’t.”

Carlos searched Cecil’s face desperately for any sign that the radio host believed him, but the car was still casting him too deeply into shadow for Carlos to make out any details.

“Please, Cecil,” Carlos said, feeling like he was saying that a lot but not knowing what else to say. “I would never do anything like that to anyone, certainly not to anyone who was still alive, and definitely never to you. And I don’t think that, because of your third eye, that somehow makes you less human, or ugly, or stupid, or anything else those papers told you. I would never harm you, Cecil, and you’re not just part of some experiment to me. This isn’t some complicated plot to see if you really have… _feelings_  or some other crap. I love you, Cecil, I really do, more than I ever have anyone else, and…” Carlos broke off to laugh a little, weakly. “To be honest, it scares me to death. I’ve ruined every relationship I’ve ever been in, and I just couldn’t…couldn’t mess this one up too, couldn’t let you go without at least trying to make it right.

“And if anyone…if this is still a problem, Cecil, if you don’t believe me or just don’t want to be around me anymore…” Carlos swallowed thickly, dropping his gaze to his shoes again. “If one of us has to leave Night Vale, Cecil, it should be me. This is more your home than it is mine, and if you really don’t want to be around me, then just say so and I’ll pack up and leave, I promise. You shouldn’t have to live your life afraid of me, or thinking I’m some sort of…mad scientist or killer about to pounce at any moment. 

“I’m just a regular scientist, Cecil, and a poor one at that. I’ve never published any important papers or worked on any important projects. The best part of my life was coming here…and that was mostly because I met you. Not because you were scientifically interesting, but because you were smart, and funny, and gorgeous, and, frankly, rather adorable—”

Cecil’s car door opened abruptly and Carlos immediately lost his voice. 

This was it, then. He’d ruined another relationship. This was Cecil, leaving him, like all the others. The pattern never changed, and never would. He was the variable that didn’t fit, no matter how hard he tried. He should have learned that by now.

But he should have tried harder. Or talked less. He should have apologized more. He should have, he should have, he should have…

Carlos took a hasty step back to give Cecil some room as he got out of the car.

“I’m so sorry,” Carlos gasped as soon as he’d found his voice, dropping his eyes back to the pavement, unable to look Cecil in the eye. “I just—I’m sorry I’m so clingy, I’ll go—”

Unexpectedly, instead of brushing coldly past him, Cecil flung his arms around Carlos and pulled him into a crushing hug.

“Ce-cil?” Carlos gasped in confusion, cautiously returning the hug. 

“Oh, Carlos, I hoped it was a lie,” Cecil sobbed into his shoulder, and suddenly he realized that Cecil was  _crying,_  and this was simultaneously relieving and heartbreaking. “But he looked just like you, and  _talked_ just like you—”

“It wasn’t me,” Carlos repeated, finally locking his arms all the way around Cecil and letting all the tension drop from his shoulders. “God, Cecil, I’m  _sorry_.”

“Stop apologizing,” Cecil said weakly into his ear. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. I—I overreacted, and should have talked to you about it, before, but you just kept staring at my third eye—”

“—that was just because it was open, and that was unusual for you—”

“—and  _I’m_ sorry I put you through that, not even telling you why—”

“—don’t worry, it’s exactly what I would have done, I don’t blame you at all—”

“—and,  _gods_ , Carlos, I was so worried about leaving Night Vale, but I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt—”

“—I never would have—”

“—I know, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. I just didn’t—but I’m just so glad now— _gods_ , Carlos, I’m just so glad you’re not—”

“—me too—”

“—I’m just so glad you’re yourself, Carlos. I was so worried—you just seemed too good to be true, all this time—and then I—but then it wasn’t, and you’re here, and you’re  _okay_ …” Cecil pulled back just a hair so he could rest his forehead on Carlos’ shoulder. He was still crying, and Carlos realized that he was too, but he was holding onto Cecil, and Cecil was holding onto him, and that was all that really mattered.

Cecil gave a broken half-sob, half-laugh against his shoulder. “Guess it’s a good thing I got a flat tire then, isn’t it?”

Carlos returned his laugh, pulling back a bit and reaching up to wipe a strand of hair out of Cecil’s eyes. “I guess. We can take my car back…” Seeing his own wrist, he remembered something. “Hold on a sec.” Carlos rummaged in his pockets and quickly located the gold-banded wristwatch he’d taken from the pile of Carlos-related belongings at Cecil’s house.

“I think this belongs to you,” Carlos said, holding it out to the radio host.

Cecil took a sharp intake of breath as he saw it, and immediately reached for it.

He held it for a few moments, running his fingers over the edges and looking down at it. Then he looked back up at Carlos, and there were fresh tears in his eyes. “I’m so sorry about all of this, Carlos,” he said, and Carlos could hear the raw sincerity in his voice. 

Carlos forced a half-shrug and a crooked smile, but was still deeply relieved when Cecil slipped the watch back on his wrist.  _Right where it belongs_ , Carlos thought, and suddenly he knew that everything was going to be okay.

Cecil reached up with the hand with the watch and rubbed his thumb along Carlos’ jawline. “I love you,” the radio host whispered, and leaned in for a kiss.

Their lips parted moments later, but they kept close, leaning their foreheads together.

“You know something?” Cecil whispered after a few seconds.

“What?” Carlos asked, thinking that Cecil could literally tell him that the sky was green and he’d believe it wholeheartedly.

“Your double is a colossal, unmitigated dick.”

 

~~~***~~~

 

Out in the flat, hot desert just outside of Desert Bluffs, two men sat on the trunk of a car and watched the sunset.

“So did you get the package sent off?” asked the one who was not tall nor short, not fat nor thin.

“Yep. Should have gotten there this morning,” replied the handsome, dark-skinned one with really great hair.

“Oh, I hope they love it. You know, that Cecil fellow really is quite nice! I far prefer you, of course, to that…other man, but, I suppose, beggars can’t be choosers.”

The dark-skinned man laughed. “Of course not, pepper. And what a generous gift for them!”

The other man laughed, his voice high and fluttering. “ _Oh_ , but it was all  _your_ idea, of course, bitter pill! You don’t give yourself enough credit. I’m sure they’ll just  _love_ such a kind gift!”

“That’s one of the things I love about you, you know,” the dark-skinned man pointed out. “That you care so much about your double. It’s very admirable. And sending him and his boyfriend a care package to show them our goodwill! I’m sure they don’t get many of those, seeing as they live in—” he paused, glanced around, and lowered his voice, simultaneously raising his eyebrows to indicate disdain. “—Night Vale.”

The other man nodded solemnly. “But at least they’ll have  _our_ package! And wasn’t it fun, coming up with all that stuff? I thought you were a particularly gifted actor.”

“No better than the set-dresser and cameraman,” the dark-skinned man returned generously, and leaned over to kiss his partner on the nose. The other man giggled and swatted at him playfully.

“Oh, poison, you just keep laying it on, don’t you?”

“Absolutely,” the dark-skinned man said smoothly, and leaned over again to give him another kiss, this one on the lips. “And don’t you ever forget it.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I kind of made up a headcanon here that Kevin and Carlos' double totally have pet names for each other that are the opposite of things like sweetie/sugar, etc., so they're all things that are unpleasant-tasting.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated, and thanks for reading!


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